FROM

A nation of zombies feeds on the flesh of dead animals, salutes, pledges
allegiance to, and sings the patriotic songs of the Empire which spreads
death and destruction worldwide. Few have noticed Bad Karma nibbling away at
their sorry asses. Few have noticed the Fall of Empire in progress. Their
national borders are prison bars, their economy in shambles, their hopes and
dreams gone. When it comes to neighbors, love has been replaced by fear.
More firearms than humans populate the land...

By
Sue Coe, the world’s foremost political artist focusing on
humanity’s tyranny over non-human creatures.

Hindu scriptures teach that anyone who kills or causes harm to other
sentient beings is in for a big dose of Bad Karma as a result. The shit can
hit the fan in this lifetime or in some future reincarnation, but it will
happen. Not that I personally subscribe to Hinduism or any other religion,
but I do believe that there’s a large dose of merit in their world view. A
lot can be said for lifestyles which involve veganism and peaceful
coexistence with our fellow beings. Stray from the path, commit the crime,
and you’ll eventually do the time. Like the Hindus, we’ll define “sentient
beings” as including (most) humans, all other creatures with eyes and
mothers, and most importantly Mother Earth herself; for she’s borne the
brunt of harm caused by her thoughtless, careless, greedy human children.

Dead meat is the fuel that powers Empire, and the resulting karmic
disaster now bites all its citizens in the ass in oh so many ways. We’ve
been told since birth that we need to kill and consume cows, pigs, chickens,
turkeys, ducks, sheep, goats, rabbits, and/or squirrels, to maintain a
necessary level of protein in our diets. Whack ’em, gut ’em, skin ’em, cook
’em (optional), and eat ’em. We’ve also been instructed to drink the milk
meant for calves, in its many forms, and to ingest the embryos of large
birds. If you are a believer in the studies and lifework of Dr. Caldwell
Esselstyn, or are even mildly observant, you understand that your morbidly
obese friends and neighbors (or you) are dying prematurely from
meat/dairy/egg-intensive diets, in ever-increasing numbers. Heart/coronary
artery disease, cancers, diabetes, dementia, Alzheimer’s, and untold other
karmic paybacks are their rewards for either directly killing animals or
buying their dead flesh from Safeway’s meat case, and consuming it. If Dr.
Esselstyn is correct, by the time the average meat-consuming high school
graduate in The U.S.A. accepts his diploma, coronary artery disease is
already ravaging his body.

Dead meat is the fuel that powers Empire. War is its business, and fast
becoming its only business. Bombs, bullets, missiles, rockets, warships, and
warplanes are its preferred delivery methods. Its young people are lured
into the bloody, tangled web of death and destruction by slick-huckster,
pseudo-patriotic, U.S. Military-glorifying advertising schemes. The lucky do
their time, emerging with bodies largely intact, suffering only a lifetime
of residual mental anguish and PTSD, souls stolen away, brains scrambled,
expressionless, and aimless, demented, self-doubting heroes to the masses
who cheerlead Empire’s wars. Warfare for profit drives the stock markets. In
my lifetime alone: A few million dead Koreans, a few million dead
Vietnamese, Cambodians, Laotians, a few million dead Afghans, Iraqis,
Libyans, and Syrians, and the market values of Boeing, Exxon-Mobil,
Raytheon, Halliburton, Monsanto, and Northrop Grumman soar. Billionaires,
corporate executives, bankers, and politicians rake in the blood money.
Combat boots leave their marks upon the faces of dead populations across the
globe, as the looming shadow of Bad Karma darkens the land.

Dead meat, the fuel that powers Empire, brings a tear to the eye of
Mother Earth. Mega-corporate meat-growing mass-execution operations grow
sentient mammals and birds in immobile squalor, pumping them full of
antibiotics and growth hormones, raping (force-breeding) them, stealing
their progeny and milk, unceremoniously slaughtering them, and feeding them
to the masses of sick, mindless, obese humans. Filling the atmosphere with
the stench of uncontained defecation and urination, and contributing more
greenhouse gas emissions than all other sources combined. Crops feeding
death-row, USDA-inspected, four-legged or feathered prisoners consume more
water in Empire than all other uses combined, both domestic and
agricultural, not to mention the associated, indiscriminate use of toxic
soil-killing herbicides and pesticides connected with corporate agriculture.

Dead meat. Populations of third world countries cry out for food and
drinking water, but receive bombs instead. Citizens unfortunate enough to
live in oil-rich lands yearn for basic needs, but find themselves to be
testing grounds for Empire’s newest, state-of-the-art WMD’s. But who needs
rice when you can have depleted uranium? Countries ravaged, war’s ultimate
goal; death, destruction, chaos. Dead meat litters broken countrysides.
Empire’s exceptional citizens stuff their fat faces full of dead meat. They
watch in awestruck approval the fireworks of death, in countries they can’t
find on a map, on their favorite corporate “news” channels. Meat; it’s
what’s for dinner. Meat; it’s what you become if you’re not in sync with
Empire’s agenda. Meat; it’s what all sentient beings are, in the eyes of
those who push the buttons and pull Empire’s strings. Resources to be
harvested. Meat.

By
Sue Coe, the world’s foremost political artist focusing on
humanity’s tyranny over non-human creatures.

The U.S.A. is now ground zero for karmic disaster. A nation of zombies
feeds on the flesh of dead animals, salutes, pledges allegiance to, and
sings the patriotic songs of the Empire which spreads death and destruction
worldwide. Few have noticed Bad Karma nibbling away at their sorry asses.
Few have noticed the Fall of Empire in progress. Their national borders are
prison bars, their economy in shambles, their hopes and dreams gone. When it
comes to neighbors, love has been replaced by fear. More firearms than
humans populate the land. Pawnshops and porn stores offer temporary solace
from wretched lives of impending poverty and loveless relationships with
despised partners. Self-loathing zombies cover their bodies, head to toe,
with senseless colorful graffiti, squalor of the skin, ill-conceived
epidermal etchings. Drug and alcohol addiction run rampant. Hungry,
homeless, hopeless people beg on every street corner, while others turn a
blind eye. The Police State grows like a malignant tumor across the land,
but soulless faces buried in miniature electronics fail to pay heed.

It would be easy to end this sordid little piece on a hopeless note, for
Empire’s apparent future appears to hold little in the way of hope. If only
there was someone who might have a chance of gaining enough power to turn
things around, end constant warfare for profit, and bring a degree of sanity
to The U.S.A. before Bad Karma brings the wrath of the rest of the world
down upon us in a big and final way. Someone who would have the huevos to
run for and be elected POTUS, buck the power of The C.I.A., The U.S.
Military, the neocon/neolib war consortium, and Wall Street. A John F.
Kennedy reincarnate. Maybe a disillusioned combat veteran who’s also a
beautiful, well-spoken, and fearless U.S. Congresswoman from Hawaii. Someone
who’s travelled to Syria (with Dennis Kucinich), spoken with President
Assad, doubts that he was responsible for the sarin gassing of his people,
and would be extremely hesitant to EVER AGAIN start another war. How about a
lifelong vegetarian Hindu? President Tulsi Gabbard….hmmm. We can only hope
and dream. Karmic disaster is imminent as our karmic debt comes due, but
there may yet be time to bury Empire and save The U.S.A. Hope springs
eternal.

The Greanville Post Senior Contributing Editor, John R. Hall is a
street-trained agnotologist with an advanced degree in American Ignorance.
Other hats include: photojournalist, novelist, restaurateur, mountaineer,
grocer, nurseryman, and janitor. He’s written three novels which have been
read by almost nobody: Embracing Darwin, Last Dance in Lubberland, and
Atlas fumbled. An untrained writer and college drop-out, he began his
short career in journalism writing the ‘Excursion’ column for The
Jackson Hole News & Guide. More recently he penned the ‘Left Column’
for The Molokai Island Times; appropriately on the island once
known as a leper colony. John currently resides, writes, and protests
injustice in the shadow of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains, and walks among
the spirits of those who once occupied the 79 Disappeared Pueblos.

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